Inmates Have Vivid, Somber Memories Of Old County Courthouse

July 10, 1994|By KATHRYN KRANHOLD; Courant Staff Writer

MIDDLETOWN — Robert Delaney remembers riding his motorcycle down Route 9 after being spared a prison sentence, looking back at the courthouse facing the Connecticut River, and thinking to himself, ``That's the last time I'll ever have to go there.''

Of course, it wasn't. That was in the '70s. The new six-story structure that now serves the county hadn't been built yet. The shoreline drug dealer ended up becoming very familiar with the county's two courthouses on DeKoven Drive and Court Street, having returned there time and time again.

``Boy have I lived to regret those words,'' he says now, in a letter reflecting on his numerous visits.

For all of his forays into the criminal justice system, Delaney has plenty of memories, both good and bad, none of which will fade away even as the courthouses change hands and change purpose next year.

This spring, the county's main courthouse, built in the early 1950s, was vacated. The Court Street building, which served as the lower court where motor vehicle cases and minor crimes were heard, was also cleared out.

Early next year, the buildings will be turned over to the city, leaving only ghosts of criminal cases that have passed through the paneled premises. Already gone are the thousands of files filled with the names, addresses and birthdates of burglars, drug dealers, car thiefs, rapists and murderers.

Those who were the subject of those cases will not forget the courtroom, the concrete holding cells, the kindness of court staff or the fear of standing before a judge awaiting sentencing.

``It was frightening,'' says Ellen Marks, an older woman convicted of several robberies throughout the state with her boyfriend. ``It was my first time going through this.''

Marks, now serving a sentence at the women's prison in Niantic, said the DeKoven Drive courtroom was cold, old and dreary looking, making the experience that much more somber.

Michael Fuller, who was convicted with his brother, Peter Fuller, of kidnapping the manager of Water's Edge in Westbrook and robbing the place, has many memories -- mostly painful -- of the DeKoven Drive courtroom where he spent numerous hours.

Fuller, who now refers to himself as ``reverend,'' writes in a recent letter:

``I had a recent `appointment' at the new courthouse. Upon my return [to jail], I found myself reflecting upon the old building. A lot of heartache and kindness was afforded to me there. An era has ended. I wish I had paid attention to the lessons taught there sooner.''

The staff, specifically a couple of special deputy sheriffs, provided the prisoners with an occasional piece of candy and some peace of mind as they waited for their cases to be called.

``Bo always had a joke and a kind word. Jerry reminisced a lot and would impart some useful wisdom at appropriate times,'' Fuller writes.

Delaney also remembers Jerry Goodale, one of the deputies who stood watch in the basement cells. ``As he did for one, he did for all,'' Delaney said, including making sure you didn't chew gum in front of the judge.

The men and women who spent a considerable amount of time there also had thoughts about the acoustics and criticisms about the cooking.

Donald Young, who describes himself as a petty thief and arsonist, was sentenced in the DeKoven Drive courthouse on numerous charges including setting fires in the Cenacle Mansion, vandalizing cars at a Middletown dealership and stealing more than 80 weapons from a Haddam gun store.

He remembers the courtroom well.

``I heard [Timothy] Liston call my crimes `heinous' and try to compare me to Terry Johnson . . . and Judge Roy Bean say I was `the most frightening individual' he'd ever had before him. As far as I'm concerned, the acoustics work all too well,'' said Young, now serving a sentence at a prison in Cheshire.

Still, sitting in the cushioned chairs in the courtroom was better than being holed up in the three tiny basement cells, with bad food, Young said.

``What we always ate at court had one dreaded name, universally feared through the system: court sandwiches,'' the onetime Middletown resident writes. ``Usually made the night before, and wrapped in paper to guarantee it would be stale, you would get one if you were lucky, two if you weren't.''

When the defendants weren't directing their attention to the proceedings, many had time to scan the walls, and several portraits of area judges that hung from them.

Deleney remembers being inspired by a portrait hanging within the courtroom. He thought the painting was of John F. Kennedy. (There were portraits of several judges who sat in Middletown, but Kennedy's portrait wasn't among them.)

Delaney said the painting gave him reason to reflect on his life and his crimes, thinking that the country would have been a better place if Kennedy hadn't been killed and Delaney's life too would have gone a different direction.

Although his memory may be fuzzy on the people in paintings, Delaney recalls some details vividly, including describing the scene at the lower court on Court Street where he spent hours waiting for his cases to be called.

``On any given day, but especially on Tuesdays, that second floor foyer looked like a sideshow. A wide variety of human life. Everyone would stand around, staring at each other and smoking cigarettes. There's a radiator near the entrance to the courtroom. It offered the only seat outside of the courtroom. But a wooden sign which was bolted down had large letters on it which spelled, `Do no sit on radiator.' It may have been no sitting allowed. Only the most brazen would sit there and disregard the sign and commands.''